


Marrow Without Bone

by SensibleNonsense



Series: Marrow [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Sleepy Cuddles, post trk, pre CDTH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensibleNonsense/pseuds/SensibleNonsense
Summary: Adam is a light sleeper.  Except when he isn't.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: Marrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859521
Comments: 33
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with the sappy, self-indulgent bullshit. I would bet the majority of the fics for this ship feature sleepy cuddling, but I still will never get enough. Had to cook up some of my own in these trying, quarantined times.

"It's like **marrow without bone** ,

to live in a house with no home."

- _Curs in the Weeds_ , Horse Feathers

* * *

It was well-known to anyone who knew him that Adam Parrish was an expert at sleeping anytime, anywhere. At his desk before class, in the back seat of the Pig, in the break room at jobs, in the booth at Nino’s, against the stacks of books at Monmouth. He gathered scraps of shut-eye like a bird gathers twigs to build a nest.

Gansey and Ronan, habitual insomniacs the both of them, had trouble believing it was real at first. Was he faking? Just being antisocial? But over time, they both came to regard it as par for the course. Gansey, with the kind of romanticized idealism with which he held many Adam-centric things. Ronan, with derision.

As their friendship progressed, the necessity for Adam’s adaptation became clear. And so did its peculiarities. Adam never nodded off; he chose when and where he fell asleep. He snapped back awake easily, rarely requiring a shake or a word, but coming to again as the noise or movement around him changed. And, there was almost no time of adjustment or grogginess; he was back online immediately.

Ronan had once sneered at Adam that he must be a robot, able to power off and on so efficiently, and recall class material like it was part of his own database. This evolved into a whole week in which he tried to recruit Noah (successfully) and Gansey (unsuccessfully) into interrogating Adam about which lab built him and what his mission was, and where he hid the spare batteries and wiring he so clearly relied on. Noah had suggested that Adam’s bike was a generator, and riding it to and from school was what kept him powered up. Ronan had pointed at him and told him that this was why they kept him around.

When Ronan started sleeping over at St. Agnes, he discovered that Adam’s peculiarities weren’t confined to his naps, but expanded upon at night. However short those nights might be. 

In the loft room of the church, with the slanting ceiling and the crooked floorboards and permanent dusty smell, Ronan observed Adam at rest. He kept the wall to his back, his bad ear to the pillow. He lay on his side, his knees drawn up, hands pulled in close to chest or mouth. The sheets, pulled up to his chin, rose and fell, but Ronan had to strain to hear him breathing.

It didn’t seem very restful.

When the alarm went off, Adam’s hand shot out, silencing it before it can finish the third beep. He sighs deeply, then opens his eyes, seeking and finding Ronan already looking back, permanent dark circles matching gaze to gaze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like gayze to gayze, am I right.


	2. Chapter 2

Not long after, some things begin to change.

While watching a movie with the gang on the big screen at Litchfield House (which, Blue pointed out, actually had enough places for everyone to sit), Adam nods off without meaning to. 

It's Sense and Sensibility, or Pride and Prejudice, or some other longwinded British non-event bullshit that’s ”required viewing” for an assignment Ronan’s already forgotten about. Ronan had slung one arm around Adam’s shoulders, and was using the other to bogart the popcorn bowl with a kind of ferocity that’s bordering on not being funny anymore, Lynch. As the movie limps onward in the darkened room, Adam rests his head in the crook of Ronan’s neck and a buttery hand on his thigh. The notes he’s taking with his other hand trail off.

By the time the sappy music swells and the credits start to roll, Adam is lights out, mouth slack and shoulders slumped. 

On the other couch, Blue yawns and stretches like a cat. Gansey opens his mouth and turns to say something to Adam, but slowly closes it as his expression grows increasingly soppy. Henry is grinning like a demon and raising his phone. 

Ronan springs into action. 

He throws the last handful of popcorn at Henry. The bowl flips and clatters to the floor, jerking Adam awake. His cheek is creased and red from the collar of Ronan’s shirt. 

Henry is cackling, jumping off the sofa, and raising his phone again. “Say cheese.”

“Wha—?” slurs Adam. There’s a bit of drool on his chin.

He doesn’t need to witness this bullfuckery. With the arm still around his shoulders, he pulls Adam back in and slaps a hand over his eyes, and shoves a middle finger directly in front of the lens just as it flashes.

“I’ll piss on your grave, Cheng.”

The picture remains Ronan’s caller ID in both Henry’s and Blue’s phones for years to come, as no one else can seem to take a clear photo of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a post by someone on tumblr a long time ago speculating that Ronan would behave like a cryptid in front of a camera. Like, the only photos anyone has of him are blurry smears. I consider it absolute canon, and aspire to it myself.
> 
> Thanks everyone for the comments so far. You're very kind. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on actual jobs and assignments? Who is she?
> 
> (Send help.)

It’s the dead of winter, and the loft above St. Agnes is freezing. 

Ronan had convinced Adam, who really hadn’t needed a lot of persuading, to huddle for warmth. So here they were, sitting on Adam’s terrible floor mattress, with Adam’s back pressed up against Ronan’s chest and the blankets drawn up around their knees. Adam was continuing to do some kind of assigned reading for Mid-19th Century Dead Fuckers Literature. That had been his cuddling caveat. Ronan was more than happy to oblige.

As Adam flipped another page, Ronan tilted his head back against the chilly wall. He was working too — burning through data (whaddup, Declan) as he scoured through weird holes on Spotify. He was starting work on A Shitbox Sing-A-Long Sequel for Adam’s birthday. But the first edition had featured the Murder Squash song (twice), and it was hard to improve on perfection. It was a good thing he had until July.

Adam readjusted himself against his personal heated backrest. A tuft of his hair tickled Ronan’s nose. 

Earlier that week, Ronan had watched Adam cut it in front of the chipped bathroom mirror using the scissors attachment of Ronan’s swiss army knife. (It was a dream thing. It also had a self-replenishing stick of gum and a tiny air horn.) Ronan had heckled him from the doorway. It looked like Chainsaw was his barber. His dad’s sleeping cows could do a better job. He should just shave his head, like Ronan. Adam had told him he could shut up or leave. They’d both been grinning the entire time, and made out afterwards. Ronan’s hands mapped out the changes as Adam sucked on his tongue.

At length, Adam closes his book and notebook and tilts his head back against Ronan’s shoulder. His nose brushes against the sandpaper stubble along Ronan’s jaw. His hands trace along the arms around his middle, fingers coming to tangle in leather bands, thumb stroking the tender skin beneath.

“You ready to turn in?” Adam murmurs. His vowels stretch long and uninhibited, drop in extra syllables. (" _Ray-ed-ey tuh terrrrn ee-yun?"_ )

“Been ready.” 

It takes a few minutes to find the right arrangement of limbs. It’s a narrow mattress, and while Adam is narrow-framed, neither of them is short. Over the last several months, as they’ve learned to share closer space, there’s been more than one collision of elbow or knee with something sensitive. It’s usually an accident.

Adam takes over tonight, manhandling Ronan to keep him pressed chest to back, the same way they’d been sitting. Legs and socked feet tangle together as Ronan presses in as close as possible, both for the pleasure of it and to avoid hanging onto the cold floor.

It would be a lot sexier, he thinks, if they weren’t both wearing hoodies and sweats. Spitefully, he sneaks a hand beneath Adam’s shirt, settling against the skin just above his heart. He can feel Adam’s nipple harden as he accidentally brushes against it, and tries not to think too much about how very pleasant that is. 

Over the layers of cotton, Adam covers Ronan’s hand with his own, and heaves a great sigh.

“If I don’t hear the alarm tomorrow, you gotta wake me up,” he slurs, already half-asleep. His hearing ear is against the pillow. Ronan hums, knowing he can a least feel the vibration.

In the morning, the alarm goes off, and Adam continues to sleep. Kisses on the side of his face wake him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Gordon Ramsay voice]: Absolutely disgusting.


	4. Chapter 4

Some lovers leave trails of rose petals or stripped-off clothes leading to the bedroom. The kind of trail Adam Parrish leaves is this:

A tri-colored shitbox parked in front of the house.

A psychopomp satyr running in circles and chattering to herself on the front porch.

Oil-stained coveralls folded neatly on top of the laundry hamper.

And a tuft of hair poking out from beneath the heaps and piles of pillows and blankets.

Ronan puts his hands on his hips. Heaves a sigh. Uses his shirt to wipe the dust and sweat from his brow, flings it into the next century. And gives into temptation.

He clambers onto the bed, shaking the frame this way and that, giving plenty of warning to his arrival as he sets about excavating pillows. At last he discovers the rest of Adam, curled up on his side, and collapses in a heap on top of him.

Adam groans. Fingers uncurl and blindly seek their assaulter. Ronan nips at them, rubs his five-o-clock shadow against the side of his face, blows a raspberry on his neck. Adam’s groans again, significantly louder this time.

“MmmerORGgg,” he grumbles.

“English or Latin, Parrish. You know the rules.”

Adam finally cracks one pretty blue eye in order to glare at him.

Ronan kisses the bit of face he can still reach, and rolls off. Still glaring ferociously, Adam wriggles forward, pulling Ronan back in with all of his limbs like particularly determined octopus.

“If y’wanna stay, ya gotta settle down,” Adam says, having captured him. That's also a phrase that’s been directed towards Opal.

Ronan wants to tell him to stop stealing lines from Declan. But 1, no one wants to think about Declan, and 2, (should be 1), Adam is lightly scratching his fingernails between Ronan’s shoulder blades, and he would really like for him to continue. He’s still wearing a shirt, but it twisted and hiked up in sleep, and he squirms in against Ronan in such a way that the skin of their bellies press together, and Ronan feels like he just swallowed a very hot drink.

Adam gives a kiss to the bare skin of his chest, and that settles it.

Outside, a tree branch creaks. A breeze stirs the curtains.

Gradually, the fingers scratching Ronan’s back drift to a halt. That’s okay. Ronan takes up the job instead. Adam puffs humid little breaths against his shoulder. He doesn't mind staying a while.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to stray off theme. Gotta end it soon.

It’s morning at the barns. Buttery light streams in through the windows, settling in pools on the kitchen counters. It’s still early, but a sweltering heat is already starting to creep in.

Ronan, who on the days that he actually does sleep rises with the sun, is returning from his morning chores. Well, not chores per say, what with of the Barns being largely self-sustaining and the cows still slumbering away. But sometimes he likes to walk the perimeter and check up on things.

Usually, Adam is awake by now. He’ll be settled at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, his legs propped up, tapping away on Ronan’s laptop, or else getting ready to head out the door for work himself. But this morning, the BMW is still parked outside and Adam is nowhere to be seen.

Last night had been the send-off for the Great Sarchengsey Roadtrip. They’d had a bonfire and barbecue at the Barns—stuffed their bellies, told stories, and laughed until they nearly puked. If a few stray tears were mixed in too, they were politely overlooked. When the moon had climbed high into the sky, they’d driven out to an empty lot down the road and set off fireworks of questionable legality. 

It was as good of a send-off as could be. But it wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last of the goodbyes. Ronan is decidedly Not Thinking About It.

He toes off his boots at the front door and takes a swig from the half-full carton of orange juice that’d gotten left out on the kitchen counter. There are dirty dishes and soiled tin foil wrappers left scattered about the counters. He pointedly ignores these in favor of scrounging about the cupboards. 

The stairs creak and Adam stumbles into the kitchen. He’s wearing one of his own threadbare t-shirts and a pair of Ronan’s old tennis shorts (Ronan doesn’t remember them being that short), and he yawns like he’s fixing to unhinge his damn jaw. 

His eyes are barely open and the hair on the left side of his head is sticking up at a strange angle. He beelines for the coffee maker.

He’s halfway through filling the coffee pot when he registers Ronan’s presence and startles slightly. 

“Jesus. How long have you been there?” he says. He pulls Ronan in by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

“You want mac n’ cheese for breakfast?” Ronan says, pressing a kiss to his temple and releasing him so he can continue making coffee. “It’s that or the pile of burnt-ass soy squares that Cheng and Sargent left here.”

Adams lips quirk as he presses buttons on the coffee maker. “You mean the tempeh?”

“They’re protein rectangles,” Ronan gripes. “It’s fucking dystopian.”

It’s easy to make Adam laugh these days. Doesn't mean it's any less rewarding.

“Mac n cheese it is, then,” Adam says, still grinning. He lays his free hand on Ronan’s chest, not to restrict, just to touch. “I get paid today. We can go shopping tonight.” 

The coffee maker starts to hum. Ronan pulls Adam in and rests his chin on top of his head. It’s easy to do with Adam still slumped and sleepy.

They stand like that for a while, listening to the birds sing outside and the coffeemaker gurgle. Ronan doesn’t know who started it, and would never admit to it, but they’re swaying side to side a bit. He still has the pasta box in one hand.

“I miss them,” Adam says quietly. “Already.”

Ronan closes his eyes, does his smoker’s breath. “They'll come back again.”

Adam hugs him tighter.

The coffee pot boils over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t actually know if there is such a thing as “illegal” fireworks in Virginia. I suspect the laws surrounding them are significantly more lax than where I grew up. (We had to drive across the river to buy em.) But, as is frequently the case, illegal fireworks just sound more fun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last bit is 100% off theme, except that it's generally #AdamComfort. But it's so short that I didn't wanna post it off on its own.

It's a lazy afternoon, about a week before Adam leaves for college. About an hour ago, he finished his final ever shift at the trailer factory, and now he's stretched out across the cool leather couch at the barns, and Ronan Lynch is giving him a foot massage. 

He hadn't requested it--had never even imagined it, really--and Ronan hadn't exactly asked. But Adam might have groaned something about never wanting to do a standing job again, and here they are. 

Ronan is pretty sure no one, possibly not even Adam himself, has done this for him before, and his reaction is backing that up. 

Adam is sprawled out on his back, his feet in Ronan’s lap, both arms slung over his eyes, head tilted back, mouth tilted upwards in a kind of loose grin. Ronan must have found another particularly good spot, because he squirms and lets out a second indecent moan.

Ronan is grinning like a demon. “You don’t even make noises like this when I blow you,” he drawls, working his way up Adam's ankle and into the calf muscle. Adam yelps a bit and squirms some more. “Do you have a thing for feet?” 

Adam laughs brightly, sharply, breathlessly, and tries to kick him. Or maybe it’s just a reflex. 

“If you keep going, I _will_ blow you.”

Ronan kisses his knee, and continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET! YOU! A MAN! WHO!!
> 
> Big thanks again to everyone who's left comments and kudos. Getting those notifications regularly brightens my dumb quarantined days. 
> 
> I've started working on a companion piece that's from Adam's POV and #RonanComfort. Stay tuned.


End file.
